


Read To Me

by publius_ham



Category: American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, NSFW, Valley Forge, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 09:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/publius_ham/pseuds/publius_ham
Summary: Whenever Hamilton is bored, he goes up to his attic room to read Plutarch's lives. He usually does this alone, until John Laurens joins him one night...





	Read To Me

 

 

“What are you reading?”

Hamilton looked up from his book, eyes slightly unfocused when he tried to see who’d disturbed him in his nightly readings. He never really got any time during the day to read for pleasure – not that reading Plutarch’s _lives_ was any form of light reading – so the only time he ever could lie down and not worry about the incessant work was in the dead of the night, with a small candle lighting his way. Normally he could do this with no one noticing, but it seemed like he’d been found out.

He was about to tell the other man to leave – he needed _some_ time alone, contrary to popular belief – when he noticed it was Laurens.

He instantly relaxed. “Oh, Jack.”

“Alexander.” Laurens, ever the gentlemen, curtsied, a sly grin on his features. “What are you reading?” He asked again.

Hamilton lifted the book so Laurens could read the cover. Then, realising it was probably too dark for Laurens to read it, he said, “Plutarch.”

He laughed shortly – as if Hamilton had surprised him. “And why are you reading that monstrosity alone in the dead of night? Where did you even get that book?”

Hamilton, ignoring the last question, huffed indignantly. “Why not? Just because we are swamped during the day with assignments for his Excellency does not mean I can let my mind rest –“

Laurens stepped further into the room, a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “Are you implying that our work – aiding the highest member of the entire Continental Army for hours on end - _bores_ you?”

“- and reading is the best course of self-study I can think of during the war.” Hamilton went on, pointedly ignoring both Laurens’ talking and his own burning cheeks. “If I survive this war, I have to equip and train my brain. And I have always liked this subject, so I don’t see why this is not proper.”

“I never said it wasn’t.” Laurens was closer still – when had he moved? He looked almost eerie in the candlelight, like his blonde hair had turned into a halo. Hamilton’s cheeks burned even more – _calm yourself, Alex._ “Why do you always fight?” He was smiling. “I simply inquired why you are here alone.”

“Oh.” Hamilton shrugged, craning his neck now to look at his friend towering over him standing just next to the bed. He had never truly appreciated how much taller Laurens was. He’d have to bend down if they were to – _well_. They wouldn’t. Laurens was a gentleman. “I figured there would be no soul interested in staying up half the night reading about Theseus’ adventures.”

And then, without warning or proper consent, Laurens jumped on the bed next to him with a smile so wide it should’ve torn at the edges.

“Laurens!” Hamilton said indignantly, his precious book almost flying out of his hands from the impact, and he immediately scooting closer to the wall to get away from him – it was already so hard not to give into his impossibly overwhelming crush, let alone be able to touch him and not _do_ anything about it. “What are you –“

“I’m a soul who’s interested.” He would not stop grinning. Shuffled closer. “Indulge me.”

“By Providence,” Hamilton cursed, hoping it would be too dark for Laurens to see the colour of his face – for it must surely be as red as his hair by now. “You want me to _read_ to you?”

“Yes.” Laurens’ teeth flashed in the dark.

For a second Hamilton was tempted to push him off the bed. It was late, his guards were down, and having Laurens so close was too much of a temptation. He didn’t want to risk their friendship by doing something impulsively – and god knew he wasn’t much of a person to be able to control himself. Having Laurens this close, their thighs touching with just a thin layer of fabric between them, their voices soft and huddled together in the dark making it think as if they were completely alone in the whole world – might not be the best thing for Hamilton’s nerves.

Then he opened the book anyway.

This was _Laurens._

With his wicked smile and dazzling eyes and sparkling personality.

It had always been impossible to say no to him.

“ _Theseus,”_ Hamilton read, his voice dropping to a whisper, “ _longing to be in action, and desirous also to make himself popular, left Athens to fight with the bull of Marathon…”_

Laurens instantly relaxed next to him, as though he also half expected Hamilton to turn him down. He dropped his head on Hamilton’s shoulder – who tried not to make his voice falter when he did so, failing miserably – and his hand dropped on Hamilton’s thigh.

There was a high ringing in Hamilton’s ears. “ _… which did no small mischief to the inhabitants of Tetrapolis. And having overcome it,”_ Laurens’ hand was burning through his breeches, “ _he brought it alive triumph through the city,”_ did his friend do this on purpose? To torture him? _“and afterwards sacrificed it to the Delphinian Apollo.”_ He must be doing it on purpose. He couldn’t not notice Hamilton’s short intake of breaths, his rising heartbeat thumping in his ears, his hands shaking – barely able to hold the book anymore.

He really tried to focus on the book, he truly did. His voice might not be completely even, nor did he understand anything he was saying, but he wasn’t stopping.

Laurens, meanwhile, was stroking patterns up and down his leg. His breath was on Hamilton’s neck, the comforting _huff_ making it almost impossible to think.

“ _The story of Hecale, also, of her receiving and entertaining Theseus –“_ Hamilton broke off mid-sentence.

For Laurens – the absolute fiend – had just reached a little bit further than his leg and touched something quite different.

“Ah,” Laurens said, infuriatingly calm. “Hello.”

“John!” Hamilton whispered angrily, wishing he could vanish into the earth and never crawl back out again. Everything in his body was on fire. Laurens had not moved his hand. “What are you –“

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked instead, turning his head to look at Hamilton. He was a lot closer than expected, so close all Hamilton had to do was lean forward to be able to kiss him. Instead, he stayed frozen where he was, eyes wide and heart hammering in his chest.

Laurens stroked him again through his breeches. Hamilton was shaking. “Do you not want this?”

He should say no. He should push Laurens away, far away, tell him that what he is doing is unchristian, illegal – _fatal._ That whatever bodily reaction Hamilton is giving is a fluke, nothing more than an accident, that he hadn’t meant to do it.

But when Laurens whispered, _“Alexander,”_ in his ear, his hand pressing down, all logical thought and reason disappeared from his mind. (Maybe they had done so the second Laurens had stepped into their room.)

So, grinning in the dark, and said, “Don’t stop.”

Laurens immediately growled, his lips on Hamilton’s neck, and he _bit_ down.

Hamilton – the book completely forgotten – pulled Laurens on top of him and pushed his hips up, feeling very good about himself when he felt that Laurens wasn’t quite so unaffected himself, either. Laurens moaned into his skin, grinding down – Hamilton saw the s _tars_ \- and grabbed Hamilton by the hip with one hand and in his curls with the other. When Laurens pulled on his hair, grazing Hamilton’s chin with his teeth and grumbling deep in his chest, Hamilton suddenly realised something.

This wasn’t something from the spur of the moment.

Laurens didn’t just walk into this tiny attic room and promptly decided to touch Hamilton _everywhere_.

This was something quite different – this was an _attack,_ a build-up to moment, a crashing result of an unseen series of events leading up to just this.

To them, Laurens grinding down against Hamilton, pinching and biting and kissing every part of skin he could find, holding him tight and close underneath him as if afraid Hamilton might disappear if he didn’t. As if he might starve if he didn’t kiss him, as if he might just combust if he had waited one more second.

And Providence be damned if Hamilton did not feel the same.

“Laurens,” he moaned into his lips when Laurens kissed him. “John,” he demanded, arching his back when Laurens’ nails dug into his sides. “ _Jack,”_ he begged when his skin became too tight, too warm, too much. He needed less clothes, he needed more everything, and he needed it _now_.

Luckily for him, Laurens instantly knew what he wanted.

First his cravat was on the floor – he did not care for it, nor that he probably had to wash it now, all he thought was _by God_ when Laurens was able to bite his skin – then his jacket, his socks, his breeches. Laurens did not waste time, nor did he seem to notice the cold around them. Neither that Hamilton. He always shivered, always complained, always felt the unforgiving snowy wind deep down in his bones. Now, however, all he felt was the burning fire deep in his gut, trapped under Laurens with his wicked grin and fiery eyes.

“Oh, Alexander,” Laurens muttered, gazing down at his body with an unreadable expression.

“You like it?” Hamilton grinned in the dark, satisfied to see Laurens’ face blushing crimson red. They had seen each other naked in the past, of course – they were soldiers. But it was never like this. Never so close. Never with their manhood standing erect, their breaths running too fast.

“Like it?” Laurens growled possessively, and promptly grabbed Hamilton’s prick. “You are a vision, Alexander,” he went on when Hamilton arched his back, moaning, pleading for more, harder, _now_ – “my little lion.”

He should not like this so much.

He shouldn’t preen and push up his hips and roll his eyes back at the innocent nickname.

But by God, did Laurens seem to like it when he did.

Everything was on fire, Laurens’ hand around him, hard and fast and tight and _god –_ Laurens’ mouth on him, their breaths mingled and – oh god, he wasn’t going to last. He had yearned for this for so long, with such certainty that it would never happen, that he wasn’t able to hold on to enjoy it as long as he could. Laurens, knowing this, didn’t seem to help him. No, the opposite, if anything he went even faster, moaning Hamilton’s Christian name against his lips, egging him on, begging him to come, _c’mon, Alexander, give it to me, it’s mine, I want it –_

For a second everything went black, the pleasure reaching up and up and up until he could feel nothing but Laurens’ hand on him, his hips shaking and –

When he came to, Laurens was kissing his face softly.

“John?” Hamilton asks softly, tired. Everything in his body felt slow, as if moving had suddenly become a thousand times harder, as if he was moving through water.

“Alex.” Laurens did not stop kissing him – his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. “Are you okay?”

That brought a laugh out of him. And, ignoring the tiredness weighing him down, he promptly flipped Laurens over so _he_ was the one trapped against the bed.

“Oh,” Laurens said, for a second too stumped to say anything. His cheeks were red, his hair a mess, and he was breathing too hard.

He had never looked more beautiful.

“Your turn,” Hamilton warned, grinned, and crawled down Laurens’ body, leaving a trail of kisses, marks and bruises as he went along.

“Oh, God,” Laurens cursed. He’d closed his eyes, his hands finding Hamilton’s hair – to pull, to hold onto, he wasn’t sure. “You don’t have to do this –“

“I want to.” Hamilton said, and he had never been more honest in his life. Laurens’ manhood was now directly in view, and god, Hamilton had never wanted to touch something more in his life. It was slightly shorter than his own, but thicker, and a dark part of Hamilton tried to imagine how it would feel to have it in his. Well.

Settling for another part of him, he licked the shaft experimentally.

He was quite experienced with women – after all, the blasted (untrue) rumours of Mrs. Washington naming her tomcat after him didn’t appear from thin air – but he’d never done this with a man. Never wanted to. It was illegal, sodomy – punishable by death, or, if worse; it would ruin his reputation and unable him from ever getting the shot he deserved in life.

But Laurens…

He made all of that worth it.

He licked again – Laurens was moaning into his own fist to keep himself quiet.

Grinning more widely now – _he could do this –_ Hamilton took Laurens into his mouth and _sucked._

He tasted salty, and wetter than he had expected. He had no idea if Laurens would like it – by his own experience, he liked it very much indeed whenever a woman applied her mouth to him – but judging by the way Laurens’ hand gripped his hair so tight it almost hurt, the muffled moans vibrating through his body, he seemed to like it just fine.

“Alex –“ Laurens moaned, looking down, grabbing Hamilton’s hair with two hands. Pulling. Pushing him down.

Hamilton nodded, as if giving permission.

Taking it as just that, Laurens experimentally pushed his hips up, effectively gagging Hamilton.

_Oh._

Hamilton gagged, his hands flailing, and his eyes closed on their own accord.

_Oh, God._

_More._

Laurens tried to pull him off – to get him to breathe, to get away, he didn’t know – but Hamilton instead sucked on harder, dove in deeper.

This was good. This was _magnificent._

His entire mind went blank, stars erupting in his eyes, his lungs were burning – and Hamilton was quite sure he had never felt so good in his life. Laurens pushing him down, his hips going up and up and up felt like this was where he belonged, trapped against Laurens, owned by him, _used_ for his own pleasure.

It was over quicker than he liked, Laurens’ hips stilling, and his liquid pouring down Hamilton’s throat.

He sucked up everything.

It didn’t taste very well – again, salty – but it felt like his very own trophy. Something completely _his own._

“God, Alexander,” Laurens heaved, pulling him up, holding him close while Hamilton gasped for breath, coughing and red all over. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Did you like it?” Hamilton asked instead, suddenly nervous.

Laurens laughed, stroking his cheek. Kissing his nose. “I feel very adequately ravished, my dear boy. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Hamilton said, relaxing against him, knowing that he’d fall asleep before he could finish his sentence. He had never felt so tired, nor so completely satisfied. “You are a wonder, John Laurens. _Je t’aime_.”

He passed out before he could hear Laurens’ soft, “I love you too,” whispered in his ear.

**Author's Note:**

> Hamilton really did read Plutarch's Lives during the war!!  
> As to if the rest of this scene happened, well... we can leave that up to our imagination.


End file.
